Lady Sun: Marni MacRae

by Marni MacRae

  “Cassie and I married young.” Lucas spoke softly, his voice sorting through the words as the thoughts formed, his intent to share the struggle he was sorting through, clear in the halting way he continued with his story.

  “We had both wanted the ranch, or so I thought. I wondered later if it had been my dream I forced upon her. If that had been the reason things started to fall apart.” He shook his head, looking down at the sugary sand in front of him. He paused long enough for me to wonder if he would finish. Then he took a breath and blew it out and forged ahead with purpose. “We spent our money and time and energy on the ranch. The first years were a struggle, but I found such satisfaction in it, I think I didn't notice that we weren't as well-suited as I had thought. Cassie went into the city often, she joined book clubs, and made friends, and would go out for drinks with them at clubs. I stayed and held down the ranch. Of course, she would invite me, and a few times I went, but I never enjoyed it. It was loud, and I don't dance and everyone was just hell-bent on getting drunk and hooking up. I couldn't understand why she wanted to go. She was married, I wanted the married life. But like I said, we were young.

  “After the first few years, the ranch began to turn a profit. My brothers and sisters were having kids, at family gatherings I would see them with their babies, and they seemed so alive and happy, forming their own units, traditions. I had always wanted kids.

  “On our fourth anniversary, Cassie threw away her birth control pills. We made a whole celebration of it, certain, that month, we would get pregnant. She stopped going out, started nesting and planning. It was our happiest year. But every month her period came, and after five or six months I started to worry. By our fifth anniversary, I wanted us to go and get tested, find out what was wrong. But she didn't. She said it was up to God, and she was happy to let it happen.

  At the time, I didn't find it odd. I started putting more energy into the ranch, and she stopped nesting and began joining new clubs. Quilting and knitting. She even took a few classes at the community college, beauty school, creative writing. But she never really showed any interest in what I had thought was our dream, first the ranch and then children.

  “Years went by, and one day she came home from a routine checkup and told me she had been tested. That she had asked the doctor to test her fertility, her egg count, I can't remember half the tests she told me at the time. But I did hear the end result. She was fine. Fertile as could be. She said I was the problem.

  “Something changed after that. I wasn't sure if it was her or me, but we grew distant. A month would go by, and we wouldn't even notice that we hadn't made love.

  Then, not long after, she announces that she found someone else, a professor of one of her classes and that she was pregnant. The divorce went pretty quickly after that.”

  Lucas paused and then turned to me. “I realize now with clarity, that she never loved me. Since meeting you, I've felt more in my heart than I ever did for her and have felt more loved by you than I ever did in my marriage. I know she lied. I know she kept taking her birth control. She must have caught on before I had that we wouldn't last, and she just bided her time. Let me take care of her, pay for her until she found something better. She used me and conceived of the most hurtful thing she could have done.”

  “I have always wanted children, Sophia.” Now Lucas smiled, he turned and looked at me, reaching up to brush my cheek with his fingers. “I believed all these years I would never have any. I am so grateful for you, for pushing me to call you ‘pumpkin’ on the Lady Sun, for being strong under pressure, and being my partner through this ordeal that would have broken any other woman. And although I already knew you had my heart, that I would marry you if you would have me, I dreaded having to tell you I couldn't give you children. I had planned to wait until we were home, and perhaps you would look past it and want to adopt, or try a surrogate or whatever it is that people do. But I would have done anything to keep you. And now,” Lucas placed his large palm across my belly, “now I have everything. I have you, and we have a family. I couldn't love you more than I do right now, for making me whole again.”

  Then he leaned toward me and put his mouth on mine. The kiss was gentle and sweet and perfect. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lifted me onto his lap. Lucas cradled me there as if I were precious and fragile, his hands stroking down my waist to my legs, running his fingers up my thighs under the hem of my dress.

  I couldn't think of what to say. I was shocked at the level of cruelty, how hurt he must have been, but more than that, I was drowning in relief and thankfulness. Lucas loved me still, he loved our baby, and we would be fine. Everything would be fine. I let my heart fill with hope and lifted my face to his, taking his mouth, tasting the sweetness of this man who was beyond perfection.

  “I love you, Lucas.” My lips breathed the words against his.

  He kissed me again, this time with more passion, less gentleness, “I know,” he whispered. And lay me back on the sand.

  * * *

  We took the day off. We set aside all our plans and worries, and returned to our castle with armloads of fruit and a full can of water. Lucas started a fire and set up a rock stove to hold the can and set it to boil. Then we reclined in the shade of our hut, clean and full, and spent hours talking. We began to plan, what we would do when we got home, where we would live. I wanted to move to his ranch and meet his family, and he agreed only if I would agree to keep my farm.

  “We can use it for vacations, pass it down to our children,” Hearing the words spoken aloud made me tear up, and I rolled over to wrap my arm around his waist. I lay my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. A strong, steady rhythm that set the tempo for our future.

  “Children.” I whispered. “How many do you want to have?”

  “How many can you make?”

  I laughed and felt the rumble of his returned laughter on my cheek still pressed against him. “We both came from big families, I believe children should have lots of siblings.”

  “Ah yes, to torture each other.”

  “Exactly, and to love each other. Family is important. When we die, they'll have each other.”

  Lucas wrapped me up in an embrace, holding me against him, and I felt his lips press against the top of my head. “We will be family.” His tone was soft and held a note of awe.

  “We already are. Tied together by shared genes that are swiftly growing to the size of a seed as we speak.”

  Lucas rolled to his side, forcing me to do the same, our face now inches from each other.

  “How are you? Are you sick? Any pain?” The worry in his voice touched me, and I reached up to smooth his brow.

  “I'm perfectly fine. So is our wee one. We have more food now, and plenty of water and the potential for a home, all we need is to hold out, be careful and wait for rescue.”

  Lucas’s blue eyes were full of concern and overflowing with emotion. I knew absolutely that he loved me, that he would do anything to keep us safe, all three of us, and I felt lightened by the knowledge, and quite aroused. I moved forward and wrapped my leg over his, pulling our bodies together, I wove my fingers through the hair at the back of his head and pulled his mouth to mine.

  We made love slowly, taking our time, not rushing, but exploring each other, tasting the warm places the sun had turned to gold. Sliding along each other in the late afternoon heat, our bodies slick with sweat and full of need, full of love. We teased each other into new heights only true passion can excel to, finding those old wounds from past hurts, and healing them with kisses and whispers of adoration.

  As the sun began to sink into the water beyond the trees, we reclined in our castle, feeding each other fruit, wrapped naked in each other’s limbs, not wanting to not be in contact, to not be as close as we could possibly be to each other. Then as the night claimed the island we fell into a sweet sleep, bringing an end to our twenty-sixth day as castaways.

  Chapter 26

  Day twenty-seven was the sam
e as the one before where the weather was concerned, but nothing like any other day of my life. I was happy. Truly and thoroughly happy. I was sticky from all the fruit we gorged on the night before, and sand clung to every inch of me, despite my shower in the village yesterday. I was hungry again and craving something I couldn't put my finger on, and probably wouldn't be able to satisfy anytime soon. But despite it all, despite being stranded, and dirty, and scraped up, I felt wonderful. “Love really does heal all.”

  “Hmm.” Lucas muttered. He moved about Castle 2.0 with purpose, gathering up scraps of things and stuffing them in pockets. He secured his knife in the largest one and looked around for the thermos, probably to fill it from the can that still sat on, now cold, rocks just outside the hut.

  Love made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Apparently, it made cowboy feel driven. I could tell he was planning on building a roof, and probably constructing a whole houseful of furniture, he most likely had a side note to whittle a whole bassinet from a palm tree on his lunch break.

  “Whoa, slow down there, Daddy, come give Mommy a kiss before you go to work.”

  Lucas stopped and looked at me, still reclined against the very dirty, and almost flat, life vest bed. A huge grin split his face, and he crawled over to lay a sloppy wet sounding kiss on my forehead.

  “Let's shower, Mommy, and we can start the day shopping for strollers and diapers.”

  “Oh, dear God, we better be rescued before this baby is born.” I moaned and sat up, rubbing sand off my cheek as I got my equilibrium. Morning nausea wasn't full force yet, but it did tickle at my tummy with any sudden movements. “I think I could handle you delivering it, just knock me out with a coconut and let me know when it’s over, but living here with no diapers sounds like hell. Can you imagine the sand in places on a poopy baby butt?”

  Lucas kept his grin in place and reached out to tousle my hair. “That won’t happen, pumpkin, we'll be home before you know it.”

  Somehow everything Lucas says, I believe. I trust him completely, and I could tell that he believes it too. So if it was just more waiting, and bananas, fish, oranges, coconuts and maybe a freaky crab to pass the time while we wait, then yeah, I'll deal with it. If cowboy could deal and smile, then I would let him convince me everything would be OK, and there would be no island delivery, no sandy poopy baby butts.

  “Alright, shower and shopping. Let's do it.” I crawled out into the sun and followed my man into the village.

  As it turned out, Lucas was the overly protective type. Logic did reason out that there was more risk for me, being here on the island, no doctor, no vitamins, no cheeseburgers, pickles or ice cream. But he seemed to think walking would hurt the baby, or sitting anywhere near where I might get bit by a spider, or stung by a mosquito, which was everywhere.

  He wouldn't let me help with the roof, which, OK, that was legit, but he wouldn't let me tend to the fire to boil water either. Or stay in the sun longer than a millisecond, or explore on my own, or leave his sight.

  I finally resigned myself to finding a piece of shade where I could watch the progress of the construction of the church roof and weave grass and palm mats for the floors. I figured if we could have a home, we could have carpeting, and maybe not sleep on the sand with the bugs. So we slipped into the traditional man/woman roles and let the days slip by.

  On day three, or rather day twenty-nine, Lucas deemed the structure safe and secure, and ready for a housewarming party. I had a stack of mats I couldn't wait to spread on the floors, and a pile of unripe fruit to stock the pantry.

  Lucas had cleared away almost all the debris from inside the church. He scraped out as much sand as possible and pulled the weeds from the interior walls. The arched windows let in plenty of light without letting in sun, and it was surprisingly cool inside. Well, cooler than outside by a handful of degrees, but it was refreshing to move from sweltering heat to tolerable heat.

  I laid out the mats while Lucas fetched our things, and I spent the rest of the day puttering inside, nesting and arranging. I had found an old wire line attached to a fallen structure and ran it along one wall to serve as a clothes line.

  “Tomorrow is laundry day.” I spoke to no one at all. Lucas had left again to catch us some protein for dinner. I was worried he was pushing too hard. The discovery of the fruit was all well and good, but he was trying to bear all the burdens of survival and was burning far more energy than he was replacing in nutrients. “Maybe now he’ll slow down,” I continued with my one-sided conversation. “Now that we have a roof and a place to call home. Maybe I can get him to take it easy and build back some strength. I'll have to insist on it, he has been looking tired.”

  We hadn't made love since the night I told him the news. I wondered if it was that manly fear of hurting the baby, or if he felt too tired at the end of the day. I hadn't brought it up, but now began to worry that he had been draining himself, maybe doing damage. “Yes, I'll insist on it.” I repeated. My no-one friend remained silent.

  It was fish with lemon for dinner with a salad of orange and breadfruit. Nutrient-rich coconut water washed it all down. I had two helpings of fish at Lucas’s insistence, I didn't argue, for I too was concerned about the baby's health. But that brought my mind around to my concern for Lucas. He did look run-down, he looked tired, distracted and darker than before. I couldn't tell in the dim light if he suffered from a sunburn from working on the roof for days, or if he was flushed.

  “Lucas, let’s take tomorrow off. I think you should rest up.” I broached the subject ready to stand my ground should he argue.

  “Hmm, yeah.” He lifted his head as if it were heavy and gave me a weak grin. “I agree, I think I need a vacation.”

  I gave a perfunctory chuckle to that, given that we lived in a place most people would pay a lot of money to vacation at. But his response concerned me, I hadn't expected him to agree. Lucas was the engine that could, he never stopped, he always kept chugging. I got up and filled his metal cup with water from the can in the corner and brought it to him. He reached up and took the cup from my fingers and drained the water in one long pull.

  Kneeling down beside him, I lay my hand on his brow, reflexively pulling it back in shock as if I had touched fire. “Lucas! You're burning up!”

  He looked at me with glassy eyes, shaking his head slowly, his lips forming the words, “No.” then he twisted to the side and threw up all over the new palm mat I had woven him.

  When planning my vacation to the Maldives, I had researched whether it was a requirement to get vaccinated against the myriad of diseases that might befall a person when traveling to the tropics. It was not, in fact, a requirement, but it was 'strongly suggested.' Of course, in my opinion, the government and doctors 'strongly suggest' you get a jab for crossing the street, and then another once you've reached the other side. But, in this case, I had made an appointment with my doctor and had received the bare minimum of shots covering the most common ailments I might encounter. If it hadn't been for Anna throwing facts at me, and constantly wringing her hands at my nonchalance, I most likely would have foregone the 'strong suggestion.'

  Lucas apparently had.

  I had no idea what he had contracted, and even if I could pinpoint it, there was nothing I could do with that knowledge. It might be malaria or dengue, or some water-born something, a mosquito-carried parasite, a sand-fly's deadly kiss, it could be anything. But no matter what it was, it terrified me.

  I helped Lucas to the bed, which was layered palm mats with the ever present life vest pillows and arranged him on the side next to the sandy floor. If he threw up again, I could at least clean it up and not have to toss the mats.

  I kept an inner dialogue going in my head to calm me. After only a few questions directed at Lucas with no answers in reply, I came to the conclusion he would be of no help in self-diagnosing, and his silence unnerved me even more.

  He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his tanned skin clammy to the touch, and hot everywhere, as if his mu
scles were coals wrapped in flesh. I wondered how long he had felt this coming on, if he had kept it from me in his barbaric manly way of 'I no get sick, me invincible' kind of attitude. I knew he would never want to worry me needlessly, but this was clearly a needful worry.

  I fetched a shirt from my suitcase and wet it with water from the can, and then sat down on the mat beside him and began to bathe the sweat from his brow. I softly hummed to myself, hoping the sound would soothe him, and me, all in one go. I tried not to think what would happen if this were an illness that lasted for some time, or worsened to ... oh God. The word death hung at the periphery of my inner ramblings, and I clenched the shirt in my fist.

  Lucas would not die. That was impossible. We survived a seventeen-hour flight against Anna's odds of crashing. Then pirates with guns and a bad attitude. We survived floating at sea, at the mercy of the great big ocean and Mother Nature, we scraped by the crash landing on the island with wounds that healed, risked infection and dodged the bullet. We had survived gnawing hunger and desperate thirst, how could this big, strong, beautiful man be brought down by a damn fly or stupid mosquito? It wasn't fathomable. But as I tallied my list of all we had endured, you've used up all your luck whispered in my ear. Like a devil on my shoulder, laughing and rubbing his hands in glee.

  “No.” I said it aloud to feed my determination. “No one is dying, we will survive this too, and we will go home.” I ran the wet shirt down over Lucas’s bare chest, attempting to cool the fevered skin. He had opened his eyes at the sound of my voice, looking up at me, but his eyes didn't seem to focus on my face.

  “Start a fire.” He whispered.

  A fire? I leaned down to hear him better, my face close enough to feel the heat rolling off of him. “Babe, you don't need to be warmer, we need ice, not fire.” I dabbed at his face again, trying to sooth away the burn, knowing the material wasn't much cooler than the air.